


Sticky

by boltshok



Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Kinktober 2020, M/M, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26769205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltshok/pseuds/boltshok
Summary: All in all it took several minutes to not only dry off their own frames but to mop up the puddle on the floor.
Relationships: Optimus Prime/Ratchet
Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953529
Comments: 3
Kudos: 85





	Sticky

**Author's Note:**

> For the first prompt RNG gave me TFP Optimus/Ratchet with Sticky and Touch. Enjoy!

He couldn’t hide the heaviness of his footsteps as he entered Ratchet’s space, and the telltale hiss of hydraulic pistons gave him away as Optimus bent down and brushed a kiss over the back of Ratchet’s helm. 

“Optimus,” he chided, fingers drifting over the interface console.

“The children are attending a ‘movie’,” Optimus murmured, resting one hand on Ratchet’s armored shoulder with just enough weight to draw his attention. “And Arcee is on patrol.”

Ratchet picked up his typing again. “An atypical night then. Nothing more.”

The large, warm hand slid down his shoulder to reach for and grasp Ratchet’s hand, stilling his nimble fingers atop the interface. 

“Optimus.” This time, Ratchet’s voice was gentler, and he allowed himself to squeeze Optimus’ fingers in return. 

The Prime shifted his considerably larger weight forward to shadow Ratchet’s stout medical frame, his quiet attentiveness making Ratchet’s plating tremble with anticipation. 

He knew this song and dance by heart. 

“It’s late.”

“Not too late,” Optimus answered. 

“The others-“

“Are busy.”

“I haven’t showered.”

This drew a chuckle out of Optimus, who finally succeeded in turning Ratchet around to face him. 

“You’re still lovely without one,” he said, voice rumbling somewhere soft and warm deep in his chest. 

Ratchet opened his mouth to protect again before he stopped, thought better of it, and nodded. 

Optimus shifted his grip on Ratchet’s hand to lace their fingers together, and despite his general crankiness and tired frame Ratchet allowed a small smile onto his face. This made Optimus brighten up and he returned the gesture eagerly. Ratchet watched the light shift in his optics and sighed. Sometimes he forgot Optimus’s youth. The war sucked all the light out of a mech at times. 

Optimus was ever-gentle in using his free hand to touch Ratchet’s helm, embrace him, guide him into a tender, tentative, but frankly needy kiss. Just when Ratchet needed more the Prime broke it off and he made a little noise in protest. 

“Would you like to continue... elsewhere?”

“No,” Ratchet breathed, putting his free hand on Optimus’ shoulder to keep him close. 

“All right.”

When they met in another kiss, deeper this time, Optimus pressed one long leg between Ratchet’s thighs and let it rest firmly, suggestively, against his warming pelvic plating. 

“Optimus.” This time his voice was strained and he couldn’t quite hold back another little noise when Optimus ran his thumb over his hand and stimulated a couple sensors in his fingers. 

“Yes?” Optimus murmured into the kiss. Dammit, didn’t he know there was a time for action, not only helpless romance? 

“If you don’t get a move on then Arcee will come back and find us here,” Ratchet grumped, “and I don’t want to do any explaining for ahem sticky plating again.”

Optimus giggled this time, a highly ignoble sound, and he took his hand away from Ratchet’s helm to rub over his pelvic array. 

“That was a difficult explanation,” he agreed, large, blunt fingertips fondling the thick armor concealing the sensitive mesh of Ratchet’s valve. 

The sound of metal plating snapping open surprised them both, and Optimus directed his optics downward before he glanced back into Ratchet’s and watched the blush creep across his cheeks. 

“As I said, we don’t have all night,” he explained lamely, and Optimus smiled and leaned in when he brought his fingertips into contact with Ratchet’s valve. 

It was soft, and warm, and already more than a little wet. The lubricant slicked his fingers as he dragged them from Ratchet’s anterior node to the rim of his valve and pressed delicately inside. The grab of calipers around his fingers was enough to make the lock on his spike cover come undone and the swelling head of his spike slowly emerged from his own array. 

Without much admiration of the flashy blue and red paint job or the gaudy biolights illuminating its length Ratchet detached his hand from Optimus’ and grabbed his spike and stroked it, base to tip. Rumbling deep in his chest in appreciation, Optimus curled his fingers up into Ratchet’s valve, spreading him open and preparing his valve to take his much larger unit. 

Ratchet tried to keep his hand on that spike moving constantly, but the continuous massage of his inner sensors by Optimus’ skilled fingers made his optics flutter as he shifted more weight against the console to angle his pelvic array up for more contact. 

“Please,” he stressed, and Optimus slowly took his hand away. By the time Ratchet was being needily polite he was ready. 

Using both hands to hold Ratchet in place Optimus steadily drove his spike home into the hot, sticky mesh of his valve. Ratchet could feel every inch invade him until he was filled to the brim and then stuffed, the head of Optimus’ spike grinding incessantly against his ceiling node. 

“Is that alright?” Optimus asked, voice sounding a bit choked. 

“Yes yes, just fine,” Ratchet groaned, trying to move his hips but meeting the unyielding strength of the hands holding him in place. “Come on.”

Optimus bowed his helm and withdrew his spike halfway before thrusting lightly back in. Ratchet’s growls became whimpers as those half-measures turned into deliberate, powerful thrusts. Condensation formed on his plating as his charge rose with each direct onslaught against his ceiling node, and his helm fell back when the spike cover hiding his own short, girthy equipment sprung open. 

A hot mouth landed on the exposed cables in his neck at the same time one large hand enveloped his spike, giving short, quick tugs in time with the thrusts into his valve. 

“That’s it, right there, right there-“ 

Optimus hiked one of his legs up nearly to his waist, and at this angle every thrust ground itself against his anterior node. 

“Right— Optimus, yes, I’m-!”

Ratchet’s vocaliser shorted out when his overload hit and he squealed out bits of static as his spike spat rope after rope of pleasure onto Optimus’s hand while his valve gushed lubricant around the hot length still pistoning away within it. Just when Ratchet thought he was coming down from the high Optimus’ spike burst and assaulted his ceiling node directly with a corresponding tidal wave of transfluid that filled him up and leaked out to drip onto the floor and his pedes.

As the waves of fluid within him tapered off, they both stilled against the console, armor pinging from the heat and ventilation fans running full bore. 

Now came the cleanup. 

Optimus lowered Ratchet’s leg, then carefully withdrew from his valve. As much as he tried to not make a mess, a new rush of fluid dribbled out of Ratchet’s stuffed valve. 

Ratchet took two rags out of subspace, passed one to Optimus, and together they began the process of cleaning up the evidence. All in all it took several minutes to not only dry off their own frames but to mop up the puddle on the floor. Finally, everything was presentable again and they both settled back against the console with a couple energon cubes to refuel. 

“I love you.” Optimus was the first to break the silence. 

“I know.” Ratchet took a drink from his energon cube. “...I love you too.”


End file.
